


Burn Out

by FairyLights101



Series: Out of the Sun [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 07:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9809408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyLights101/pseuds/FairyLights101
Summary: “Tooru… it’s three in the morning… you okay?”“Not… not really,” he croaked, fingers fluttering against the pillow.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I promise the end is worth it (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑  
> EDIT: take your attention to this _amazing_ [art by lokiodinson on tumblr](http://lokiodinson.tumblr.com/post/157799794294/a-collection-of-doodles-ive-done-for) because I'm _still screaming_ about how beautiful it is.

He wasn't sure when it had happened, but the swirls in the ceiling had blurred, indistinct between the tears and glaze. Tooru dragged his hand across his face with a shuddering breath, eyes shutting finally, burning. His chest ached, a vicious hollowness that gnawed on him. Fingers trailed down his neck to the chain, to the rings that lay against his breastbone. Both black, one with a diamond that jutted out, the other with a thin band of diamonds. 

_ Keiji.  _

A dull burn filled his eyes, left him shuddering with a fresh wave of quiet tears slipped out. “I'm sorry,” he breathed he curled in on himself, Keiji's pillow clutched to his chest. His fingers bit into it, held it tight as he sniffled into it, tremors working through his body. That bloodied face was burned into his mind, eyes glazed, lips parted. Painfully blank as it faced the sky with a vacant stare. Or that last kiss with a static shock that had made something in him twist, anger and confusion bubbling up. His smile, warm despite blood gushing down his lips, smoke and electric sparks flying off his body. 

Tooru pressed his hand to his mouth and bit, harsh as he clenched his eyes shut and drew in a shuddering breath. Another. Two more, and then he pulled his now-aching hand away and reached for his bedside table and the phone on top of it. He punched in a familiar number and pressed it to his ears, listened with bated breath until it clicked, not the  _ “The number you’ve dialed is out of service”  _ one he’d gotten every time he’d called Keiji’s phone. 

_ “Tooru?”  _ Hajime mumbled into the speaker, voice rough with sleep. Someone on the other side stirred - Kentarou probably, because Hajime said something, soft and indistinct, before a breath crackled through the call.  _ “Gimme a sec…”  _ More rustling. Tooru just nodded to himself and bit his already swollen lip as he struggled to maintain a decent pace of breath. Something clicked.  _ “Tooru… it’s three in the morning… you okay?” _

“Not… not really,” he croaked, fingers fluttering against the pillow. 

There was a second of silence, and then a soft breath. Not one of irritation, but just sadness.  _ “Do you want me to come there now?”  _

“I… please.” 

_ “Give me fifteen.”  _

“Make it ten,” he managed to joke, “And get some booze. Or food.” 

Hajime snorted, but he didn’t protest, just hung up and left Tooru in overwhelming silence. He let the phone slip from his fingers and cradled the pillow closer, buried his nose into it. If he breathed in deep enough he could just barely smell Keiji lingering in the fabric, a muted sweet scent that had always been pleasing to drink in. Now it just brought crashing waves of guilt and grief. But he burrowed in anyways. 

_ I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you I was ChromeStar. I should have stopped him. I should’ve known.  _

But he hadn’t. He’d been a  _ fool _ and nothing less. ‘Protecting’ Keiji had done nothing for him. And, if Keiji had done the same for him - well, that hadn’t worked either.  _ Was it even worth it?  _ Had any of it been worth it? Hiding who he was,  _ what _ he was? Being a ‘good guy’ for the world? Accepting all those calls, fighting all those battles against  _ Phantom,  _ who had never stopped moving, stopped fighting for his own sort of good. His heart twisted. 

Tooru’s eyes fluttered, fighting against the tears, as he nuzzled the pillow, curled his fingers into the gray plaid case.  _ Keiji picked these sheets out.  _ Just like he’d picked out some of the art they’d hung in the living room, or the white tea pot with watercolor cherry blossom branches on it. Like how he’d picked out a fluffy blue blanket that he’d always cuddle up in after a long day of work to watch movies with Tooru. And the rings. Tooru’s hand curled around his chest. His next breath wheezed out. 

_ Keiji.  _

A knock made him jolt and he disentangled himself from the bed, pillow still pressed to his chest, and drifted out to the entryway. Hajime stood outside, Kentarou right behind him, both of them holding bags of what smelled like food and something that clinked. The hero smiled, sniffled and opened the door wider. “That was quick.” 

“Of course,” Hajime snorted as they stepped in and set their bags down in the kitchen. 

Tooru trailed after them and watched, chin in the pillow as he clutched it to his chest, worrying the ends. “Kyouken.” The blond glanced up, face a little pale and hands shaky. “You didn't have to come. I know you hate the jumps.” 

Kentarou grimaced and shook his head as he rubbed his stomach, queasy. “Nah… it’s fine.” 

He managed a weak smile as he slung his arm around Kentarou’s shoulders and ruffled his hair. “Too sweet! I’ll make you some ginger tea.” He swung away and slipped past Hajime, heart seizing.  _ If Kentarou comes you know it’s bad.  _ Not that they weren’t friends - not exactly anyways. Their relationship was strange at best, but affection or shows of support so blatant were rare for Kentarou when they weren’t aimed at Hajime, his family, or his volleyball team - and that last one was debatable considering high school, though Tooru knew it had changed. But still. It said something that Kentarou was there now, leaned against the counter while Hajime stroked his back soothingly. 

Tooru tore his eyes away from them and bustled around, setting some water to boil while he grabbed packs of tea, mugs , stirring spoons, honey because Hajime refused to drink tea without heaps of it - he just did  _ anything _ so he could focus. The kettle whistled before he had to turn and Tooru closed his eyes for a moment, drew in a breath, and took that cherry blossom pot and poured water into the mugs, dunked the tea bags in. He carried Hajime and Kentarou’s over, the latter seated, a little more color in his face. Hajime had settled himself against the bar, and no matter where Tooru moved he could feel those sharp green eyes on him. 

Tooru didn’t acknowledge that stare as he set his tea aside to cool and dug through the bags that his friends had brought. “Milk bread!” he sighed happily as he pulled package after package of it out. He glanced at Hajime and patted his heart. “Bless, you’re too sweet.” Hajime huffed out a laugh and shook his head as Tooru delved through the other bags. Tea, the soothing lavender kind, and sleep medicine. His smile was glass. “Thanks, though I don’t need this stuff.” Kentarou raised an eyebrow, but neither of them said anything, just watch him as he opened the last one.  _ Score.  _ Not much, but the bottle of vodka and two bottles of rum made him smile. 

He glanced at the pair, who stared at him, expressions unreadable. “Well,” Tooru said, “I don’t know about you, but my tea needs a little something.” 

“Tooru-”

“Shut up, Hajime.” 

His friend fell silent for once rather than stop him. He wouldn’t have bought the alcohol if he wasn’t okay with Tooru drinking. He would just make sure Tooru didn’t end up in the hospital. But Tooru  _ needed _ it, just one fucking night where his mind cut out and he had something other than  _ Keiji _ to focus on. He opened up the vodka, poured a generous amount into his mug of tea, and offered it to the others. Kentarou sneered at it and Hajime grabbed one of the bottles of rum, adding a little to their drinks. Tooru shrugged and took a swig from the bottle. The alcohol burned as it slid down,  the strongest thing he’d felt in a week except for bone-crushing  _ grief.  _

He smiled and set it aside, grabbed his tea and the milk bread. “So, Kyouken, how’s the job going? Athletic trainer for a pro team now, right?” 

“Yeah,” Kentarou grunted as he traced the rim of his mug. “We’re supposed to go to Osaka next week. We’ve got a game in Tokyo in a few days though.” 

“Oh, lucky that we’re so close then!” No more than thirty minutes from the city limits by car. And, with just a little more time added to that, right at Ginza. 

Tooru’s hands went tight on his mug and he tipped it back, drank it all, careless of how hot it was. When it was all gone he grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured himself a mugful, very much aware of the stares. “Do you need me to blind you both for a bit?” he said blithely as he topped the mug off and pulled it close with a glare at them. 

Hajime scowled at him and crossed his arms. “We want to make sure you’re being careful, Tooru.” 

“Such a hen,” Tooru sang as he flipped his hand. “I’ll be fine. Just a couple of drinks. Kyouken, your team?” 

The blond glanced at Hajime, who’s face softened a little before he nodded, and Kentarou sighed quietly. Tooru sipped at his alcohol as Kentarou spoke of his team, voice low and rough. Hinata Shoyo from Karasuno was on that team, as well as Kageyama Tobio. Their libero was Yaku Morisuke from Nekoma. The number one ace of Japan, someone from further down south, had found their home with Kentarou's lot. It was a stellar team, Tooru knew that even without Kentarou telling him, but he let the man talk. 

The wistfulness in his eyes was hard to miss - the injury he’d suffered in college when an earthquake had hit and the old gym he’d been in doing extra practice had collapsed had been too severe to come back from. Even with a hero healer there for him the minute they pulled him from the rubble he still had a limp.  _ But at least he’s alive.  _ But Tooru didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything but drink and listen, offering questions occasionally when Kentarou faltered, unsure of what to say next. 

He was on his third mug of vodka when it really started sinking in, that warm, tingling in his belly and chest, leaving him gliding somewhere between the sky and infinity. Tooru giggled and pressed his mug to his chest, grinning at his friends. Hajime had dragged a stool beside Kentarou, stroking from his hair to the back of his neck and down to his shoulder occasionally as the blond blinked slowly, eyes glazed with exhaustion. It was well after four in the morning, closer to five. But Tooru just felt  _ light _ , a dull buzz slipping through his veins as he giggled. “Kyouken is  _ sleepy.  _ Such a sleepy Kyouken.” 

The blond tried to glare at him, but it broke apart as a yawn split his jaws and he nestled closer to Hajime. His eyes fluttered shut with a hum as Hajime’s fingers worked through his hair once more before settling on his arm, secure. “He had a long day yesterday.” 

“Ah.” Guilt broke through the cloud of bliss. Tooru took another sip. “He didn't have to come, y’know, he could've kept sleeping.” 

“Someone's gotta be a hardass,” Kentarou mumbled, “Especially since Hajime would go soft on you. Stop drinking already.” 

Tooru defensively cradled his mug closer. “Fuck you.” 

“Fuck  _ no _ .” 

“So rude, Kentarou! That wounds me!” 

A golden-brown eye cracked open and Kentarou stared Tooru down, face hard despite the sleepiness. “Shut the fuck up and stop, you need to sleep tonight.” 

Sleep. 

In the bed. 

One too big, too cold, too  _ empty _ for just him. 

Tooru's chest went tight - or maybe he just finally realized how tight it had been all along - and he slowly set his mug down. His arms pressed in on his sides, his hands curled over his heart, over the rings. That beautiful sunshine glow of a glide through an alcohol-induced haze shattered apart, sent him plummeting back to Earth with no parachute, no mark to hit. Just a freefall so he could go  _ splat _ all over. There was burning in his eyes, thickness in his throat, and he curled in on himself, knees practically in his throat as he wrapped his arms around his legs. 

“Tooru?” Hajime said softly. 

He shook his head, pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes as he sucked down a shuddering breath. Another. But that didn't stop the tears from trickling out as he looked at the two lovers and smiled through the  _ agony.  _ “You know, they won't let me see him. His body.” His shoulders hitched as a quiet sound bubbled out. Tears dripped onto his arms as he smiled through them, shaking faintly. 

“They  _ what?” _ The words weren’t a bark, weren’t a snarl, just something caught in between and sharp as Kentarou leaned forward, pulling out of Hajime’s arms, only for the hero to reel him back in, holding him tight. But Hajime was  _ furious _ \- that much was obvious by the way the small house plant in the center of the bar shriveled, went black. 

The light overhead flickered, shadows flitting across it. “Sorry,” Tooru sniffled quietly the shadows congealed into dark liquid-like globs on the bulb and dripped onto the table top with wet  _ plops.  _ He sniffed, wiped at his running nose as his nails dug into his arm. “I just…” 

“Why the fuck won’t they?” Kentarou said, softer this time. 

Tooru shook his head, lips wobbling as he turned to look at them, the drips of shadows growing faster.  _ “I don’t know,”  _ he wailed as he buried his face into his arms, full-body shudders wracking him as he sobbed. 

_ I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.  _

They hadn’t told him why. They’d just taken Keiji away and left him waiting, numb and lost. He pried his head back out, snorting back snot and scrubbing at tears that wouldn’t stop as he spoke around a tongue too thick, too heavy. “I-I-I called around, but they s-said  _ ‘Measure of national security’ _ , and I just- K-Keiji  _ never _ killed anyone! He-he was just some stupid v-vigilante, and-” 

The scent of flowers filled the room, soft, freshly bloomed, and Tooru swallowed as Hajime’s arms wrapped around him. He knew what the smell was, chamomile and lavender, a mix meant to calm and soothe, coming from the flowers that had bloomed on Hajime’s scalp. He could feel it working, seeping into his body and unwinding his muscles as Hajime held him close, swept his fingers down Tooru’s back, tracing his spine. The touch was too similar to Keiji, too close to what he’d liked to do, tracing the ridges of every vertebrae, the ribs, any dip in his skin before it dissolved into senseless wandering touches. But Tooru no longer had the energy to cry, no longer felt close to the edge. He just felt blank, all that devastation dulled to a weak ache. 

He sagged into his best friend’s chest, let his face nestle into the crook of his neck as he slowly inhaled that sweet, soothing scent. He sniffed again. The shadows on the light and counter had stopped, now just a puddle lying there that slowly faded away, the shadows returning to their proper places on Kentarou, Hajime, the counter, so on. “I’m sorry,” he croaked. 

Hajime shook his head, squeezed him tighter. “There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” he whispered, large, warm hands stilling on Tooru’s back finally. “It’s hard. But we’re here.” 

Tooru nodded and hiccuped wetly. He drew in another shaky breath. Blinked. It tasted different, smelled a little off. He sniffed at it for a moment. Jerked back, face tight with hurt, betrayal as Hajime held him, kept him from stepping back as his legs started to go weak. “Haji… you  _ asshole,  _ I-” 

“You need it,” Hajime said softly, eyes glimmering. 

Tooru swayed, blinking furiously as dark spots danced before his eyes, sensation slipping away. “I  _ don’t- _ ” The words were slurred, quiet, and all he could do was crumple into those waiting arms as he crashed into sleep.

* * *

 

Tooru slammed his phone down onto his counter with an ugly snarl, face contorted.  _ “Fuck you,”  _ he hissed to the device. It didn’t respond. Didn’t even ring. He wasn’t sure if he liked that or not - he just knew he absolutely  _ did not  _ want to so much as speak to Hajime. 

The one-sided silence had been going on for the last three days, ever since his friend had decided to use his powers to knock Tooru out. Sure, he’d slept for nearly twenty hours and it was the best sleep he’d gotten since that first night alone, but it was the fact that Hajime  _ hadn’t asked,  _ had just gone willy-nilly with his powers and decided that using his  _ stupid plants _ to drug him was a fucking  _ fantastic _ idea. Tooru marched to the living room, snatched up a pillow, and pressed it to his face a second before he  _ screamed _ into it, a shriek that scraped his throat and left him light-headed when he chucked it back down. 

_ You’re acting like a child.  _ A tiny portion of him, the rational side that  _ knew _ he was overreacting, barely audible beneath the white noise of pain. 

He bared his teeth.  _ So what? So what if I’m being childish? I want to see Keiji, I want him to be alive. I want Keiji back. I want to  _ see _ him, God dammit! _ But Keiji wasn’t coming back. The government wasn’t going to let Tooru see the man he loved so desperately. He would forever be stuck with that image seared into his eyes - Keiji, limp on the ground, blood smeared across his face. 

Tooru hiccupped, pressed his hands over his eyes and sank to the ground, trembling as the cracks in his armor spread a little wider, as the tears threatened to spill. That sweet, pained smile was ingrained in his mind, sharp, agonizingly clear. Crimson slipping down his lips, his chin in thick rivulets. Glazed gray eyes, unfocused, devoid of all he'd come to love. Tooru wheezed, chest caving in as he doubled over, forehead to the floor.  _ I want you back. I want you here. Please come back,  _ please _ , I'm begging you.  _

He bit his tongue, swallowed hard, and curled in on himself. Tears dripped onto the floor, blistering in his eyes. Gasps scraped on his throat, closed his throat, left him shaking as his nails bit in.  _ “Fuck!”  _

His gut twisted and he jerked upright, red-rimmed eyes narrowed in a glare on the wall. Skeletal arms danced there, inky black things from nightmares with claws for finger tips and bony structure. Things from  _ his _ nightmares,  _ his _ past. From days spent lying prone on the floor of his teenage bedroom, tearing at his skin and hair, deep in a vicious flood of self-hate as those shadowy hands danced, always threatening to, but never sinking into him. A cesspool of ‘never enough’ and ‘inferior’ and ‘I need to be better’ and ‘I never will be’. Of staring at the back of a genius on the court in blue and white, then black and orange, and a genius on the streets in a hero’s outfit. 

He straightened himself and levelled a glare, snarled. “Go away!” 

The shadows flickered, but they grew stronger, sharper. The fingers curled as the hands painted over the bedroom walls stretched, reached the ceiling and peeled off, curved overtop him like some demented cage. Tooru jerked on his hair, pain prickling through his scalp as he rose into unsteady feet. 

_ “Go away!”  _ he screamed, throwing his hands wide, batting the skeletal fingers and claws away. 

They came closer, grew larger, sharper, seething darkness that caressed his cheek. A pinprick of pain. Blood trickled down his cheek as the shadows curled beneath his chin, tipped his head up so he could stare into the churning black. It roiled, bubbled, thick and dangerous. Tooru's hands loosened. The tension in his shoulders seeped out, left him weak and shaking faintly. He felt  _ empty.  _ Lost. Directionless. He couldn't  _ feel _ anything, too numb to function. 

“Keiji's gone,” he whispered to the churning darkness above. It almost seemed to still, waiting for him to continue as it dipped his head back further, almost painful. “He's not… he's not coming back.” And that knowledge  _ killed _ him. Left every scrap of him fiercely aching, like someone had snapped his ribs apart and ripped his heart out. The pitch-colored shadows drifted a little closer, cold, slimy. Another tear slipped down his cheek. 

“Go away… please.” 

His hands trembled. The darkness shrank back, left his cheek as it sank back into it's place on the ceiling, then the arms crept down the walls. He sagged back to the ground, legs too weak to hold himself up, and watched with dull eyes as the shadows calmed and slipped down the walls, across the floor, and receded back into his natural shadow. He slumped forward, head hanging as his fingers twitched on his lap. The quiet was overwhelming, deafening. Left his ears full of his heartbeat, too quick, too heavy. 

_ Keiji…  _

Tooru rose, feet unsteady, movements wooden, and drifted out into the kitchen, chest feeling funny, mind blank. His hands shook as he opened the fridge. Bottles clinked. He pulled the half-gone bottle of vodka out, then the two bottles of rum, one full, the other two-thirds full. He sagged against the fridge, sank to the ground, and stretched his legs out, and opened the first bottle.

* * *

 

Hajime’s lips curled with disgust as he surveyed Tooru's kitchen. Tooru just watched, apathetic, as Kentarou shifted the array of empty bottles of alcohol that littered the countertop, clinking together quietly. The sink was full of dishes half-washed, or just left there from the rare occasion when he’d actually bothered to eat. His friend slowly turned to him, face scrunched with concern. “Tooru…” Hajime said slowly as he reached out, but Tooru pulled his limbs in and scowled. 

“You're treating me like a baby.” 

“Tooru, you haven't been to work in a few days.” 

“They know. I called out.” 

“Tooru, you  _ can't  _ do this. You have to eat. You can't drink like this.  _ You're hurting yourself,  _ okay? Keiji-” 

Tooru jerked back, lips curled in a snarl.  _ “Keiji is dead,”  _ he spat, “It doesn't matter! It's just a couple of fucking drinks, alright!” 

“A  _ couple _ ?” Kentarou snorted. 

Tooru whirled and jabbed a finger at the blond, the shadows behind him sharpening. “Don't  _ you  _ fucking start,” he snapped. 

A hand slammed down on his shoulder, ripped him back. Furious red flowers swarmed Hajime's hair, unfurling wildly, uncontrollable as he pushed Tooru back, slammed him against the bar, back bowed. His friend crowded him, eyes blazing. “You  _ do not  _ talk to Ken like that.  _ Do not _ use your powers at him or so help me-” 

A tan hand curled around Hajime's bicep, tugged gently until Hajime twisted. Kentarou's gaze was soft, brow scrunched slightly as he swept his fingers up to Hajime's shoulder squeezed him. “Hajime,” he said quietly with a glance at Tooru. The hand on his shoulder fell away. The flowers closed up and became little red buds in Hajime’s hair, the anger lingering. 

Hajime stepped away, but Tooru didn’t move. He just pressed his spine to the counter and hunched over, holding his elbows as he took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down, to sink back into that fractured blankness. Someone touched him, but he drew away, into himself. Immersed back into the dull ache that throbbed through his skull or the foul taste of vomit and old alcohol in his mouth or the weight in his chest, obnoxiously heavy and persistent. He dragged in another breath, scrubbed his face. “I’m… gonna take a shower ‘n brush my teeth.” 

He didn’t look at them, didn’t wait for a response, just trudged out of the kitchen, upstairs, and into the bathroom. He stripped mechanically, eyes glassy, and stepped into the shower. The water was frigid when he cranked it up, then blisteringly hot, but he stood there and drank it in. Sank to the floor, legs too weak to hold him up.  _ Keiji, I don’t know if I can do this.  _

Nearly two months had crawled by, a blur of grief and shadows, of work and alcohol, of cutting Hajime and Kentarou out of his life until they’d busted in fifteen minutes before, Kentarou a little unsteady from the jumps. Of trying to forget and move on, only to crash and burn in failure after pathetic failure. He couldn't even cry. He got close, with eyes burning and throat closed up, but never anything more as of late. It just took too much energy. Just like cleaning the house or washing himself. Even hero work. The head of Aoba Johsai had let him go on leave for a few weeks under the condition that he see the nurse for a psych evaluation and medication to help stabilize him. He'd half-assed the first. Hadn't even bothered to go pick up the drugs. He just didn't want to move, to think, to  _ live _ anymore. Tooru sighed quietly, worked his fingers through his damp, greasy hair. 

_ What  _ would  _ Keiji say?  _

Something like “Stop being a child Tooru, you're better than this” in that low, sweet voice of his. The one Tooru was starting to struggle to remember. Just like his face, the exact shape fading. Or his laugh, the full-body ones and the little giggles and the playful snorts. The precise shade of his eyes.  _ It doesn't matter. He's dead.  _ His chest ached, that sharp, persistent hollowness that left him breathless. 

Tooru lingered at the bottom of the shower for a few more minutes before he rose and started to viciously scrub his skin and wash his hair. He stepped out a while later, skin prickling and red, towel wrapped around his waist, and he snatched up his toothbrush, jammed it into his mouth, and got to work. He reemerged after nearly an hour, in fresh clothes and free of all grime for the first time in days. 

Hajime and Kentarou had already cleared out his collection of bottles and Kentarou was elbow-deep in soapsuds and water, scrubbing at his dirty dishes as Hajime worked over the stove, cooking something that smelled like the beginnings of curry. Tooru didn’t say a word, but they knew he was there by the way the light flickered and dimmed before it strengthened. It was something he couldn’t stop, not right now, even if he wanted to. He didn’t linger in the kitchen - it hurt to watch the two work in their own easy silence, sprinkled with subtle touches. 

Tooru dragged himself into the living room, sagged onto the couch, and pulled a soft blanket over his body, limbs drawn into his chest. He licked his lips.  _ I don’t want to be here.  _ But nowhere else was better. Brown eyes closed. The sound of water splashing, of food cooking, and muted voices trickled in, a quiet wave against the whirling of his mind. Tooru buried his face into the cushions of the couch, eyes closing. 

A touch on his shoulder, this time gentle, stirred him and he blinked slowly. Hajime nodded and pulled away, but Tooru reached out, snagged his fingers. His friend stilled, face still carefully blanked. Still easy to read. “‘M sorry,” Tooru rasped. He licked his lips and watched. 

Hajime’s eyes flicked away before he sighed and squeezed Tooru’s fingers. “Come get food you dumbass.”  _ I forgive you.  _

He turned away and headed back to the kitchen as Tooru struggled upright, the blanket falling to his waist. He felt heavy, his body not really cooperating. Not enough sleep, too few good meals, too much alcohol. He slumped forward, elbows on his knees and head in his hands as he took a few breaths, trying to steady himself. The food smelled good and rich, but the thought of eating only made his stomach turn.  _ How much longer?  _ How much longer until he could  _ function _ like a normal human being? He was starting to believe it wouldn’t come. Tooru scrubbed his face roughy and forced himself up and into the warmth of the kitchen. 

Hajime wordlessly handed him a plate with a humongous pile of rice beside a beef curry and Kentarou set out cups of tea as Tooru sank down.  _ I can’t eat all of this.  _ Hajime passed a pair of chopsticks and levelled a hard stare at Tooru. “You’re going to eat at least half of that,” he said sternly, no room for argument. 

“Rude, Iwa…” Tooru mumbled, but he obediently started to eat. It took everything he had to not gag as he slowly chewed on his first bite. Their gazes were heavy, but he chewed on, eyes fixed on his plate as he swallowed, then shoved another bite into his mouth. He carried on, carefully blocking out their conversation, focused on the food, on the weight in his stomach, on the flavors he couldn’t taste. 

_ I just want to sleep.  _

He wanted to be alone, wanted to violently self-destruct and shatter into a thousand, a million pieces. But Hajime and Kentarou wouldn’t let him. That much was clear. 

He stopped when barely a third of the plate was gone, his stomach churning, his head shaking. “I  _ can’t _ ,” he managed. 

Hajime didn’t protest, just let him lean back and curl his arms over his stomach as he tried to breathe, fought to ignore how  _ uncomfortable _ he felt. “This is really good,” Kentarou said after a moment. 

Hajime smiled sweetly, eyes crinkling. “I’m glad. It’s a new recipe I’ve been thinking on.” 

“Didn’t realize your power involved cooking too,” Tooru teased, head lolling back to stare at his friend. 

Hajime snorted and shook his head. “Didn’t realize yours was about having bad jokes. Probably ‘cause you’ve had it since birth.” 

_ “Rude,” _ he gasped, clutching at his chest, pointedly ignoring the pulse of pain and tightness that went through him as he smiled. “It’s okay Hajime, at least I can always make a better joke than you.” Kentarou choked on a laugh and a bite of food and Tooru jerked his thumb at the blond. “See? Kyouken agrees with me!” 

“ _ ‘Kyouken’  _ would really appreciate if you’d stop fucking calling me that,” Kentarou said sourly, no real bite to his voice. “It’s been how many fucking years since we were in high school?” 

Tooru smirked at him and shrugged. “Does it matter? Once a Kyouken, always a Kyouken.” 

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Kentarou protested. 

“Ah, ah, ah!” Tooru sang as he tapped Kentarou on the forehead, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!” 

“Stop quoting  _ Gone with the Wind _ you idiot,” Hajime said with a gentle smack to Tooru’s thigh. 

He twisted to his friend and fluttered his fingers with a hum. “Mm, I think  _ not _ .” Hajime rolled his eyes and stuck another bite of curry into his mouth, but the flowers on top of his head had bloomed again, little pink peonies this time. 

Tooru shook his head and curled his knees into his chest, leaned overtop them with his arms crossed over his knees. He closed his eyes. Listened to the waves of their voices, muted, warm. They were so close on either side that he could reach out and touch them. And yet he felt a million miles away, mind already sinking back. The shadows behind them grew darker, distorted. He sighed and buried his face into his arms.

* * *

 

The shadows danced on the walls, darkness seething within, giving them a thousand shades as they sharpened, softened, closed in, and flicked away. He wasn’t in control, not really. He couldn’t remember the last time he  _ had _ been in control. Tooru shuddered, buried his face into his arms as he sucked down one breath. Two. 

_ Go away.  _

But the faint tug in him was still there, his powers refusing to cooperate. The touch of the shadows trailed down his back, whispering temptations into his ears as he shuddered, pressed his hands over his ears. “Dont…” he rasped. “Stop… please.” Their touch only grew, heavier, colder, as the shadows thickened even more. 

Tooru bit his tongue, choking back tears and a scream as he slowly rocked in place. He couldn’t move, couldn’t  _ breathe  _ as the darkness roiled around him. Every part of him felt disconnected, gone. His purpose was gone, had been gone for the last three months. He couldn’t control his own powers, which meant no hero work. It felt impossible, soul-crushing, to fake those smiles when Hajime and Kentarou or Kenjirou and his hero-in-training, Goshiki, came along to see how he was. He gave them smiles, jokes, tried to make it seem like he was healing finally. But four months had done nothing to dull the pain, nothing to give him the semblance of control he’d clung to before.  _ I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know what to do.  _

The shadows shifted, bobbed closer, then back, and close once more, teasing him. Tooru shook his head, clenched his hands, face screwed up into a snarl. “Go away, go away, go away, go away,” he chanted. 

One shadow draped itself across his back instead, heavy, suffocating,  _ frigid _ despite its lack of form. He swatted at it, but it grew heavier, forced his legs to unfurl and back to bow until his forehead pressed to the ground. Sweat trickled down his back, eyes wide open, heart pounding. Fear pumping through his veins, icy and quick, as he stopped breathing. The shadows had never done that before. They’d hurt him, yes, the skeletal ones with razor sharp claws, but the blob-like ones had  _ never _ been so forceful, so harsh. He glanced back at it, just barely able to see the edge of its form. 

“What do you want?” he breathed. It shifted, curled, and then a wavering tendril slipped forward, thin, water-like. The shadow on his back pulled back a little, allowed him to ease upright as the tendril curled around him, crawled up his chest - settled on the ring.  _ Keiji’s _ ring. He stared at it, eyes wide. Slowly connected the dots. 

Tooru heaved himself off the floor and instantly swayed, the bloodrush and lack of food leaving his head spinning, the world blurring. He thrust a hand out and found a handful of shadows, cool and slick, and clutched it tight as he steadied himself. He jerked back a second later, spitting as he jabbed a finger at the biggest seething mass.  _ “I won’t!” _ he snarled, “I won’t do that to Keiji!” 

It shifted, climbing a little higher, thickening a little. Almost questioning with how the top portion cocked to the side. It was curious, he could  _ feel _ it. He bared his teeth and swatted the tendril around him away, shadow splattering on the floor before it slowly inched back together. “Don’t you fucking  _ even _ ! Keiji is  _ dead,  _ and that’s not going to bring him back!  _ Nothing _ will, hear me? Keiji is  _ dead. Dead, dead, dead, Keiji is-  _ Keiji is… Keiji…” 

His chest heaved with a hiccupping sob as he shrank in on himself, body trembling violently, head shaking. His arms crossed across his chest, one hand tangling with that necklace and the rings, the other burying itself into his hair. His eyes were burning, tears slipping out in a hot, swift tide. 

“Keiji is gone.” 

His voice  _ splintered _ on the words as he pressed his fingers over his heart, the rings beneath his palm.  _ But you can still see him.  _ As he was, back when he was smiling, laughing, breathing,  _ living.  _ Before Ginza. Before they loaded him into that ambulance and whisked him away. 

Tooru shook his head, quiet sobs shaking his shoulders.  _ I can't. I shouldn't. It's wrong. That's not Keiji.  _ But the claws of temptation tightened where they'd latched on from day one, sinking in deeper. Tooru's hands slipped away, the tears slowing.  _ But then the last thing I see of him won't be a bloody corpse.  _

Trembling hands extended, spread wide and curled slightly at the fingers, coaxing the light. It wavered before him like a mirage before it slipped away. Tooru slapped his thigh and threw his hands out, teeth bared.  _ Don't half-ass your powers, dumbass.  _

His hand clenched tight, turned so his palm was to the ground. He spread his hand. The air before him shimmered, wavering -  _ condensing.  _ The shadows behind shrank, shifting like waves on the walls as a form slowly appeared. Tall, but smaller than him, with curly black hair, gray eyes, and pale skin. Slender fingers were laced over his stomach. A sweet smile appeared as the illusion steadied, fully formed. His next breath shuddered out as his hand loosened, stretched out. 

“Kei… Keiji?” 

The illusion nodded. 

One step. A second. His fingers brushed across the illusion’s cheek. It was warm from the light, almost like skin. His chest tightened, too much to breathe, as his hand slipped back, cradled Keiji's cheek, curled through his hair. “Keiji…” Keiji's smile broadened as he leaned into Tooru's touch. Tooru closed his eyes, took a steadying breath. “I miss you…” he whispered, voice trembling. The illusion just kept smiling, a little sad now, as it reached forward too. He. It. Illusion.  _ Keiji.  _

Tooru closed his eyes and took another breath as he leaned in, pressed their foreheads together. “I miss you so much.” Keiji couldn't respond - light couldn't speak. Couldn't have a smell. It only felt warm, gave the semblance of living.  _ Let me believe for five minutes.  _ A tremor worked through him as he pressed closer, slid his other arm around Keiji's waist. “I love you…” His hands trembled, tightened as he leaned back, eyes cracking open to peek at Keiji. 

It was easy to lean down, to press their lips together. No little puff of breath brushed across his face like he remembered. No little sound of happiness. But he stepped closer, bumped their noses together, and smiled weakly as he tugged on Keiji's hair. A tongue swept across his lips, no moisture, the same texture as the rest of Keiji's body. Tooru sighed quietly and pulled away, settled his face into the crook of Keiji's neck as he slumped into his fiance. His lover. His _ illusion.  _

“You're gone…” he breathed into Keiji's neck. Warm, long hands settled on his back, fingers in the grooves of his spine. Familiar. 

Tooru lingered in that embrace for a moment before he pulled back, slid their hands and fingers together. He tugged Keiji out to the kitchen, the shadows spilling out of the bedroom around them. He gathered up a few new bottles of alcohol - those had been hard to hide from Hajime the last time he'd come over, but he'd managed - and pressed them into Keiji's hand, and clutched a few of his own. Just beer this time. He, Keiji, and the shadows slipped back into the bedroom. Tooru propped himself up on the headboard, pillows behind him and Keiji to his right. 

The bottles occupied the nightstand and he cracked the first one open, eyes cracked and watching the shadows as they slink up the ceiling, drooping in thick globs that never reached the bed. He drained the first bottle, swapped it for a second and opened it with a hiss as he leaned into the warmth of the illusion. Keiji. He sighed. Gentle fingers curled through his hair, smoothed it back in soothing circles as he sagged into the touch. Tooru sipped at the beer, eyes shut. 

“Keiji… I think I'm forgetting how beautiful you are.  _ Were.  _ But I guess part of me remembers. You've just… your eyes are so wonderful. Gray with brown spots… And the freckles on your shoulders... there’s just so many. ‘N your hair - I miss pulling on it. But your voice…” His own cracked. The shadows darkened as Keiji held him close, cheek to his scalp. Tooru just drained the rest of the bottle and reached for a third, desperate to drown it all out and leave only a headache behind.

* * *

 

The light overhead was blinding, sharp as his eyes cracked open. Tooru grunted and rolled over, licking his dry lips with a parched tongue as he rubbed his face, covered in fresh stubble. No headache, dizziness, or any of the typical hangover shit - his regenerative abilities helped cut those down unless he got absolutely  _ trashed.  _ Which he hadn’t, but fuck had he wanted to be. But with the illusion of Keiji against him, warm and solid, toying with his hair and stroking his back, his arms, and the faint buzz of alcohol in his veins it had been easy to drift off, probably sometime around four in the morning. 

A glance at the clock had seven in the morning glaring at him. Tooru blinked. Swept his hand along his face once more and sighed. He rose, a little unsteady.  _ I should eat.  _

The thought didn’t leave him nauseous anymore, just exhausted. It was a force of habit, something he made himself to. It meant Hajime didn’t hover over him until he ate. Tooru shook himself and staggered into the bathroom to piss and brush his teeth, then out into the kitchen. He turned the coffee pot on with a stab of his finger and opened up some of his cupboards as he scratched at his stomach, yawning. Half-empty containers of cereal stared back from one. A couple of cans of peaches, out of date. A container of natto. 

Tooru sighed and sagged against his counter as he raked his fingers through his hair. His cabinets and fridge were pitifully empty. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out to get groceries - he’d told Hajime he’d done it the week before, but that had been a lie. He hadn’t left bed that day, let alone his house. “How much more pathetic can you get?” he mumbled to himself as he dug his nails into his scalp, a little too hard to be healthy. But the pain grounded him, gave him something to focus on. Something to keep his powers in check with. 

“Probably a lot more,” someone sighed behind him. 

Tooru whirled around, eyes wide, hand curled and raised, light burning in his palm. A person sat at his bar, a young man with dull brown hair and a black leather suit, skin-tight. He held up his hands, face impassive except for a slight quirk to his mouth, an echo of the amusement in his eyes. “You really don’t want to do that,” he said slowly. “You’re weak, idiot. My dead grandmother could tip you over.” 

“I can still blast your ass into a scorch mark if you don’t tell me who the fuck you are  _ right now _ ,” Tooru snarled. The ball of light in his hand expanded a little, grew a little hotter. 

The man shrugged, let his hands drop to the counter. He traced a pattern into the marble top. Something appeared on it, and then a second later it peeled itself up into the air. A set of characters, painfully familiar in a way that made the rings around his neck  _ burn _ as the radiance in his hand dimmed. “My name is Konoha Akinori, also known as Dream Ink, and I’m here to talk to you about something very important on behalf of Fukurodani Hero Agency. Specifically, about Akaashi Keiji.” 

“What about him?” Tooru croaked, voice shaking. He knew the hero before him. Dream Ink, a hero who, by drawing kanji, could make things appear by rearranging the matter around himself, and even imitate life for a time with his creations, similar to his own illusions. Fukurodani was a powerful hero agency - the top one in Tokyo, in the top five of Japan, and the top ten globally. 

“What does Keiji have to do with  _ Fukurodani _ ?” he managed, voice shaking. 

Konoha smiled, razor-sharp. “He used to be one of our members - Tesla. You may have heard of him?” Tooru hesitantly nodded. His hand fell. Konoha steeled his fingers before him, pinning Tooru down with his sharp, unforgiving stare. “He went rogue when a mission went bad and his partner, Silent Wing, was killed by an inside man. You may remember, about five years ago? If you knew him then that is.” 

Tooru  _ did _ \- there had been a stretch Keiji’s senior year of college, over the summer, where he’d come home one night shaking, trembling,  _ sobbing.  _ He’d been withdrawn for months. Went out less. Attended school only because he had to. Barely reacted. He’d bounced back in the following spring with a different sort of vigor, but he’d never explained what had happened, had never given  _ any _ indication as to what had happened. They’d been so young, so new to each other - and yet they’d stuck together, secrets kept close to the hearts out of fear. It was hard to know who you could trust in a world where people still didn’t trust heroes, still thought they needed to be “deactivated”, or worse, completely wiped out. 

Tooru shook his head from side to side, narrowed his gaze. “What’s all this matter? Are you going to let me see his body finally? Are you going to let me  _ bury _ him?” 

Konoha’s smile broadened as he leaned forward, the kanji spinning slowly in the air, shimmering. “No need. Keiji is alive.” 

Tooru leaned back. Inhaled slowly through his nose, exhaled just as gradually through his mouth. Closed his eyes. He lunged around the bar and slammed Konoha against the wall, fists curled against his jumpsuit as he bared his teeth.  _ “Keiji is dead!”  _ he spat as he jerked Konoha forward, then shoved him back again, his head thunking against the wall. 

A hand pressed over his face and something  _ seared _ across his forehead, burning into his skin. Tooru tried to twist, to move, but his body wouldn’t -  _ couldn’t _ move. He glared at the hero, who met his gaze with a steely one of his own. 

“Akaashi Keiji is alive,” he said again, slower, “And I’m here to bring you to him.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ψ(☆ｗ☆)Ψ Leave a comment to enjoy more sweet pain (and maybe some living Akaashi)  
> Hit me up at [fairylights101writes](http://fairylights101writes.tumblr.com/) to stay up to date on this au by tracking it with _#series: out of the sun_  
>  Thanks for reading and see you on the next installment!


End file.
